


Mother and Son

by portraitofemmy



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portraitofemmy/pseuds/portraitofemmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of five different Mother’s Days in Kurt Hummel’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother and Son

**Author's Note:**

> This fic hurt to write. It was weirdly cathartic, because I honestly have not been able to make myself write for months. But drawing from that raw place made the words open up, I think. When I warn for grief I mean it, this deals heavily with loss. But there is hope at the end, because all shadows do pass.

Kurt is five, and on Mother’s Day he and his mom plant flowers.  
  
Spring is in the air, the sweet smell of flowers and light rain and growing things, and his mom is wearing jeans and one of his dad’s button-ups tied around her waist when she sticks her head into his room and asks him if he wants to come with her to the garden store.  
  
“We shouldn’t be too long,” she says with a wink as she helps him buckle into his booster seat. “I’m gonna go pick up some starter bubbles and fertilizer.”  
  
“Can we grow green beans?” Kurt asks eagerly, his eyes fixed on his mom as she climbs into the front seat and starts up the car. The first graders at his school are growing beans in bags, he’s seen them through the classroom doors.   
  
“Beans are hard to grow, Kurtie,” his mom replies, glancing at him in the rear view mirror. “But we can probably find you something else to grow.”  
  
Kurt ends up with a few starter tomato plants instead, and he’s practically bouncing off his feet by the time he and his mom get home from the store.   
  
“I’m gonna grow the best tomatoes ever!” he said proudly to his father, carefully holding up the plastic boxes to show them off, the little green shoots on display.  
  
“You don’t even _like_ tomatoes, buddy,” his dad says warily, and his mom laughs behind him, ringing like a bell.  
  
“Don’t spoil his fun, Burt,” She says affectionately, reaching out to ruffle her son’s hair. Burt just sighs fondly, looking from his wife to his son, and Kurt grins up at his mom. She smoothes out his hair gently and says “Go put on some play clothes and I’ll help you plant them, honey.”  
  
They spend the rest of the day out in the back yard, in the patch of turned earth at the rear of the house. Kurt’s mom pulls up some of her old flowers to make room for his tomato plants, assuring him she doesn’t need two beds of petunias anyway. The dirt feels cool and soft between his fingers, and when he looks over at his mom she’s lit up by the sun, chestnut hair pulled up into a messy bun on her head and oversized shirt covering her shoulders.   
  
Standing back to admire their work as the sun goes down, Kurt’s mom stands behind him and loops her arms around his shoulders. “Thanks for helping me, sweetheart. This was a perfect way to spend Mother’s Day.”  
  
He tips his head back to look up at her, grinning widely. “Can we make cheesecake too?”  
  
She laughs, swatting lightly at him with her garden’s gloves. “Brat. Maybe, if you go and get cleaned up.”  
  
Kurt pulls away with a whoop, dashing off into the house to clean up, leaving his mother standing in the back yard with her hands on her hips, smiling after him.  
  
***  
  
Kurt’s ten, and he spends Mother’s Day in his dad’s shop.  
  
It has been an awful couple weeks at school, surrounded constantly by the reminder of the impending holiday. His teacher had tried, she really had, she’d let him make a card and decorate a cup for his dad instead. It was nice of her, but it didn’t make him feel better. He wanted to be making those things for his mom, he wanted his mom back. It has been months, but it still doesn’t feel fair. It isn’t _fair_.   
  
Kurt sighs, and makes himself smaller in the chair he’s curled up in. He can feel it when the guys in the shop glance over at him, can see the wariness in their eyes. He’s old enough to understand pity, to understand that they feel bad for him because it’s Mother’s Day and his mom is gone, but he doesn’t _want_ them feeling bad for him.  
  
He wants his mom back.  
  
Maybe his dad can tell how badly he doesn’t want to be there, maybe it’s written all over his curled up form, because he comes over to Kurt hours before the shop is supposed to closes. “Hey, buddy, why don’t... why don’t you and me get out of here early? Go get burgers or something.”  
  
It’s way too early for dinner, and Kurt isn’t hungry anyway, but it’s better than being surrounded by people looking at him like they’re not sure how to speak to him. “Okay.”  
  
He climbs into the back of his dad’s car, staring out the window without really seeing anything. His dad flips on the old tape deck to fill the silence, the familiar strands of Pink Houses drifting out of the speakers, and Kurt sighs, pressing his temple against the glass window.  
  
It’s only after they make the turn onto the road to the cemetery that he becomes aware of where they are, sadness and dread jumping into his throat like a clog.   
  
“I thought we were getting burgers,” he says weakly, as the car pulls to a stop.   
  
“I figured we could take a short detour,” his dad says gruffly, and Kurt almost wants to say no. Almost wants to cross his arms and plant his feet and refuse to get out of the car. There’s nothing here he wants to see.  
  
“Come on, buddy,” his dad says more gently, opening the back door for him. He’s got flowers in his hand, which means he must have been planning this all along, and Kurt wishes he’d known, wishes he’d been able to bring something too- except he doesn’t want to be here at all.   
  
His dad is looking at him hopefully, sadly, and Kurt can’t let his dad down, he just can’t. He climbs out of the car, trying not to look around himself as they set off down one of the rows. So many stones, blending in to one another, and Kurt doesn’t want to be here, there’s nothing here he wants.   
  
They stop in front of the familiar stone, with the familiar name on it, and it’s been months but Kurt just wants to cry again. His father crouches down, resting the flowers against the stone, and then places his hand against it. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he whispers, and the hurt chokes in Kurt’s throat.  
  
He grabs at his dad’s hand when he stands back up, tucking himself into his father’s side. “I miss her so much,” Kurt says through a sob, and his dad lets go of his hand to stroke his hair.  
  
“Me too, buddy,” he says hoarsely, and Kurt holds on tighter. They stand there for a long while, Kurt clutching his father as he cries, a hand stroking soothingly through his hair.  
  
He desperately hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t wanted to be there, but when they settle down in a booth at the burger place later, he feels lighter somehow. He and his dad settle down together, and there’s no pity or uncertainty between them. For the first time in weeks, Kurt feels alright.  
  
***  
  
Kurt’s sixteen, and Mother’s Dad is a huge affair.  
  
Finn would have probably forgotten about it without Kurt’s gentle prodding, reminding him that he should really, really get his mom something, and _no a hug doesn’t count, Finn, god_.  
  
They go out to breakfast as a family, sharing a booth at in the dinner, Finn and Kurt on one side and his dad and Carole on the other. Carole’s grinning at them, _her boys_ , and Kurt’s dad’s got his arm slung across the back of the booth, body angled toward her and radiating contentment.   
  
Everything else, all of the drama of glee club and school and work was left at the door, and they sit together in their little bubble of family. Finn’s got relationship drama coming out his ears, and Kurt’s got a band new boyfriend and a cellphone in his pocket just burning to be taken out to text him with. But Kurt can’t remember the last time he had a Mother’s Day that he actually had a reason to enjoy (that’s a lie, he remembers it exactly, down to the second) and it’s nice to have something worth celebrating again.   
  
Kurt helps Carole cook dinner later that night, Finn excused to take a call from his girlfriend because apparently relationship drama can’t be held at bay all day and he was always more of a hinderance then a help in the kitchen anyway.  
  
“I feel like you shouldn’t be cooking your own Mother’s Day dinner,” Kurt says to Carole with a smile. “That’s like baking your own birthday cake.”  
  
“Oh, I’m only helping,” Carole says, winking at him and bumping their hips together where they’re standing at the counter, cutting vegetables. “Besides, I like cooking with you. You know fancier things than I do.”  
  
“I’m not sure extensive blog reading on how to make healthy food taste good counts as knowing fancier things,” Kurt smirks, and then concedes, “But the first couple months of trying to get Dad to stop eating everything covered in grease _was_ a learning experience.”  
  
“You say that, and yet I’ve seen you pack away a half a pizza by yourself,” she teases, poking him in the side. “You’re his son, through and through.”  
  
Kurt smiles down at the cutting board in front of him, watching the knife blade slice cleanly the the pepper’s he’s cutting. As much as they’re trying to eat healthier now, Kurt had been raised on burgers and steak and delivery pizza. Meals were the only thing he and his father had been able to connect over in those silent years, when they seemed to be missing each other at every other turn. He would always hold those memories dear to himself.  
  
But these memories are worth making too, he thinks privately, as he glances over at Carole. She’s blinking rapidly, trying to keep from tearing up at the onion she’s cutting, and he can’t hold in his snicker.  
  
“Oh, shush, you,” she scolds, banishing her knife playfully at him until he holds up his hands in mock surrender.  
  
“I heard if you chew gum while you do that your eyes don’t water as much,” he says thoughtfully, grabbing another pepper to start slicing.  
  
“Well, it’s too late now,” She says, setting her knife aside with a flourish and motion to the cutting board of sliced onions. “Should I start these in the frying pan?”  
  
“With a little olive oil, yeah,” he says with an nod. He bites his lip, thinking and then says, eyes still fixed on his cutting board. “We should make a cheesecake too. My mom and I always used to do that for Mother’s Day. We should make one.”  
  
His eyes stay carefully fixed on the knife in his hand until he feels Carole’s fingers brush his elbow. He looks up at her, stupidly nervous and heart in his throat, and she smiles at him like she really does understands what he’s saying. “That’d be lovely, Kurt.”  
  
Their meal that night is full of laughter and love and the warmth of family.  
  
***  
  
Kurt is 20, and he doesn’t know what to do about Mother’s Day.  
  
Blaine urges him to call home, stretched out all long and comfortable in Kurt’s bed for their lazy Sunday morning in. He’d just gotten off a 45 minute phone call with his own mother, telling her of his exploits in the city and listening to her recounter Cooper’s Mother’s Day Extravaganza.   
  
“12 dozen flowers, really?” Blaine had asked, rolling his eyes at Kurt who smiled at him, then began to trail his fingers lazily up the inside of Blaine’s leg. Blaine scowled at him, nudging Kurt’s hand away with his foot, and Kurt laughed, flopping back in the bed as Blaine said “Well I’m glad I only sent you a card and a book, then.”   
  
Kurt had claims Blaine’s mouth for a kiss once the phone is hung up, and Blaine smiles into it with a sigh, pushing him back gently when the kiss breaks. “You should call Carole,” Blaine says softly, and Kurt looks away, swallowing hard.   
  
He doesn’t know if he should. He remembers being young and feeling empty and just wanting to forget that this day existed, pretend there was no reason it should be different than any other Sunday. “I don’t want to make it worse,” he says softly. “I don’t want to be a reminder if... if she’s trying to ignore it.”  
  
“Kurt...” Blaine starts, touching his cheek. “She won’t be able to ignore it. Every other commercial on TV is about Mother’s Day right now, the internet is teaming with it. I think hearing from you would be a reminder of _good_ things.”  
  
You don’t stop being a mother, Kurt supposes, any more than you stopped being a son. The old ache in his chest, the space that would never be filled, no matter how much he loves Carole, throbs dully. He reaches out, grabbing Blaine’s fingers to twist through his.   
  
“The first Mother’s Day after my mom died, I just wanted to ignore it, but Dad didn’t let me,” he tells Blaine, who cocks his head with that interested expression wears he sometimes, all focus and quiet attention. “I didn’t want to deal with her being gone, but Dad took me to visit her grave. I must have cried for an hour, god. But I felt better after.”  
  
Blaine nods, squeezing Kurt’s hand gently in his. “You should call her,” he says again, and Kurt sighs.  
  
“I will, I just. Need to figure out what to say.”  
  
He does end up calling later, after an early dinner squeezed in before Blaine heads off with June again and Rachel’s at her show and he’s got the apartment all to himself. It’s eerily quiet, when months ago it had felt claustrophobically crowded, but he thinks he could use the privacy for his.  
  
Nerves eat him up as the phone rings, terrified that he’s going to say the wrong thing. But she sounds happy enough when she picks up the phone, her greeting faintly surprised.  
  
“Hey, Carole,” He returns, feeling slightly guilty for not talking to her more. He calls his dad a couple times a week, but if she’s on shift at the hospital or his dad’s in DC then they might go for weeks without speaking. He bites his lip then says, “Happy Mother’s Day.”  
  
He can hear the hitch in her breath, and her voice is wet when she says “Well, thank you, sweetie. I was working most of it, but... that’s fine. Being busy is fine.”  
  
His heart aches softly, the old grief for his mother mixing with the newer pain he knows he shares with her. “Hopefully it’s not too busy?” He asks, and he can hear the relief in her breath at easy topic change as she updates him on the conflict with the new nurse, and tells him about one of their Attending’s terrible dye job.   
  
It’s not the smoothest phone call he’s ever had, full of stops and starts and things left unsaid between them, but he finds that he’s really glad to be talking to her. He’d expected to miss his dad, out here in the city and so far away, but not for the first time he finds he misses her too.   
  
“Thanks for calling me, Kurt,” Carole says into a lull in conversation, and he swallows around a lump in his throat.   
  
“Of course,” he says thickly. “You should. You should have some cheesecake. I’m sorry I’m not there to make it for you.”  
  
“Oh, I’ll see if I can make your father take me to Breadsticks. There’s isn’t as good as yours, but it’ll do in a pinch.”  
  
He laughs wetly, scrubbing his hand up over his face. “If you think mine’s good, you should try it from this place Blaine found, oh my god, I would literally fight someone for that cake.”  
  
Carole laughs, and they’re off again, Kurt sharing more details of his life with her. His throat feels sandpaper raw by the time he says goodbye, with a promise to call her again soon. He ends up slumped on his bed, held-in tears bubbling up to the surface, for his mother and his brother and all the loss he’s had to endure.  
  
He’s cried out and exhausted by the time Blaine gets home, curled up around a pillow and binge-watching reality TV on his laptop. Blaine doesn’t say anything, just curls in close behind him, and Kurt would tell him not to wrinkle his suit except he really wants to be held right now.  
  
“Thanks for making me call her,” He says quietly, and Blaine just kisses his cheek.  
  
***  
  
Kurt is 23, and they go back to Ohio for Mother’s Day.   
  
Both he and Blaine had been able to get the weekend free of all obligations, and they’d been welcomed home with open arms. Their plane had gotten in at noon on Saturday, and then there had been the drive from Columbus to Lima, and the afternoon spent catching up with his Dad and Carole, so many things from their lives to share. By all rights he should be exhausted.  
  
And yet, here he is, awake at one in the morning when he is going to have to get up at six if they’re going to make it to Westerville in time for breakfast with his in-laws. (His _in-laws_ , the Andersons are his _in-laws_ , he and Blaine are _married_ , that still hasn’t really sunk in yet.) Still, sleep eludes him, in his old bed surrounded by the memories of the person he used to be. Even with Blaine’s familiar presence at his side, he can’t help but wonder if there are just too many ghosts here, on this day, for sleep to come easily.   
  
With a sigh, he gently shifts Blaine’s arm off of him so he can roll out of bed. Blaine makes a soft noise, reaching after him in his sleep, and Kurt leans down to sooth him back to sleep with a gentle kiss on the cheek and a hand on his back.   
  
The kitchen has been rearranged slightly since the last time Kurt cooked here, but it’s easy enough to locate the small sauce pan and the spices he needs. He’s just bringing the milk to a simmer when he hears footsteps pad into the kitchen behind him. He glances back to see Carole standing in the entryway, wrapped in a robe and looking how he feels.  
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologizes, turning back to keep his milk from scalding.   
  
“You didn’t,” she assures. “I was already awake when I heard you go past. Have enough there for two?”  
  
He hums an affirmation, tipping nutmeg and cinnamon into the pan. “Can you get a couple mugs?”  
  
They settle onto the couch in the living room together, sipping the milk in comfortable silence.  
  
“Finn used to love this, you know,” Carole says eventually, looking down into the mug in her hand. “It was the funniest thing, because he hated milk as a kid. But he liked it when you made it.”  
  
The years that have past have tempered the hurt, life continuing on as it does, but Kurt knows the tone in her voice. “My mom used to make it for me,” he offers back, swirling his mug gently. “Whenever I couldn’t sleep. Almost fifteen years later and the smell still makes me thing of her.”  
  
He could see Carole nod out of the corner of his eye, and feel her weight settle more comfortably into his side. “Quiet a pair we are,” she said after a moment’s silence, raising her mug to take a sip.  
  
Kurt bit his lip, glancing over at her. “I think we’re lucky,” he said after a moment, meeting her eyes when she looked over at him. “I mean, not. Not having had to loose them, obviously. But. I think I’m lucky to have you. I feel lucky to get to have you.”  
  
He can see the tears that begin to form in her eyes, and for a moment he wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. Then she leans over to rest her head on his shoulder, and he takes a breath, letting out the ache in his chest on the exhale.  
  
“You’re a good son, Kurt,” she says, her voices strained but honest, and he swallows thickly.   
  
“You’re a good mom,” he returns, and her laughter is wet, almost like a sob.   
  
He’s going to have to be up again in a couple hours, fresh and presentable for a visit to his husband’s family. Then they’ll come back here, and he’ll make a cheesecake, and it will be something like the joyous family affair he wants this day to be.   
  
But for now, he’s simply grateful to have this moment with her. 


End file.
